


Nightmares

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human Castiel, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Nightmares, Rated M just to be safe idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam Winchester has nightmares, he would dream about Jessica. He would see her burning on the ceiling, just like she had all those years ago.</p><p>When Dean Winchester has nightmares, it is like a roulette table of possibilities.</p><p>When Castiel has nightmares, he often dreams of Naomi and what he did under her control.</p><p>Their main problem, at first, is that none of them are willing to talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Second installment in my 'Prompts' series - the word this time was 'Nightmares'. I found this one to be kinda difficult since mental health issues are always hard to approach especially with people as damaged as Team Free Will.  
> Kudos/Feedback is greatly appreciated ^_^  
> (Un-beta'd so sorry for any mistakes!)

_Prompt Two: Nightmares_

When Sam Winchester awakes from his nightmares, he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands, sometimes hard enough to draw blood. He presses them in until the pain stings his eyes with tears, a dull aching spreading through his palms. He wills himself to feel the pain, to remind him that this is real and his nightmare was not. He used to bandage his hands, or hide them from the sight of his older brother – fearful of what he would say if he found out. Sam doesn’t do that anymore. When he started to notice the bags underneath his brother’s bloodshot eyes and the stench of alcohol on his skin that told him Dean suffered as much as he did, he stopped hiding. He would see Dean glance cautiously at the red indentations in Sam’s delicate skin but the older hunter never said anything about it. Never questioned him. Sam was glad of that.

When Sam Winchester has nightmares, he would dream about Jessica. He would see her burning on the ceiling, just like she had all those years ago. He would dream about feeling her hot blood dripping onto his face, just like he had all those years ago. Only, in his dreams, unlike all those years ago, Sam would always find himself pinned to the bed, unable to move. Dean never bursts into the room and saves him. He never escapes. He’s always forced to stay there, to watch her as the flames engulf her body and her blood begins to drip faster, coating him. The last thing he sees before he’s consumed by the flames too is her helpless gaze, fixed on Sam, silently begging him for help that she would never receive. Then the flames would cover him too and burn into his skin. When the flames overtook him, he would awake in the cage, being passed between the two brothers like a toy to relieve their frustration and anger on. He would relive the torture again and again with Lucifer’s laughter ringing in his eyes.

Then he would wake up, sweat-slick and trembling with tears running steady tracks down his cheeks.

***

When Dean Winchester awakes from his nightmares, he drags himself out of bed despite the sting in his sleep-deprived muscles that made the whole process feel like hauling yourself over shards of broken glass. He staggers to the kitchen and finds a bottle of liquor in the cabinet, every time. He sits in the corner of his room and forces himself to finish the whole bottle before he’s allowed to climb back into bed. He drinks until his mind is woozy and his thoughts just hazy blurs. It usually works to block out the memories of his nightmares. Usually. After that, he never really sleeps; he passes out, intoxicated, on top of his covers and deals with the consequences in the morning. He spends most days before noon with his head hung over the cold porcelain of the toilet, expelling last night’s onslaught from his body. He always has the lingering odour of alcohol on his clothes and skin when he joins his fellow hunters at the table, despite showering. Neither of his teammates say anything though, but he can feel their concerned stares, the glances they share when they think Dean isn’t looking. It makes his skin crawl with discomfort and shame. But when he notices the fresh scars on his brother’s palms, replacing old ones and the tremble of Castiel’s nerve-wrecked fingers as he reaches for something – signs that they are suffering as much as he is – he stops worrying so much about what they think.

When Dean Winchester has nightmares, it is like a roulette table of possibilities. Sometimes, he dreams of his mother and her death. Sometimes it’s so graphic he can almost smell the scent of burning flesh and he can’t stop himself from vomiting in the bathroom when he awakens. Other times, he dreams of Sammy being hurt on some hunt that Dean was too careless in and he watches his little brother die in his arms, his warm blood covering Dean’s fingertips as he tries to shake him back to life. Sometimes, he dreams of hell; he dreams of Alistair torturing him, dragging him to the brink of death and bringing him back to relive it all over again. On the worst nights, he still dreams of hell but instead, dreams of the day he broke. He dreams of the souls who screamed and begged for him to stop, begged for him to have mercy. He dreams of the grotesque, creative methods he used to silence them. Of how he enjoyed it – adrenaline pumping through his veins. When he awakes, he wonders again why the angel whom he has grown so close to ever bothered to save him from the depths of hell in the first place. He didn’t deserve saving.

Sometimes, he simply dreams of those he let down. Dreams of Jo and Ellen, how they offered up their lives to ensure Dean and Sam could keep moving. He dreams of Bobby and how they could have saved him if they had been more cautious. He dreams of his father and the sacrifice he made for Dean's life and dreams of Sammy and the life he gave up to come hunting with Dean again. He dreams of Cas and how he had let him down when he was fighting for control of Heaven; he hadn’t been there when he needed him and the angel had ended up working with Crowley and eventually dying for it. He should have been there.

He always wakes up angry and has to resist every temptation to smash the bathroom mirror when he catches sight of the pitiful, selfish man staring back at him.

***

When Castiel awakes from his nightmares, it is always an overwhelming sensation for him. Sleeping itself is new to him, since he had only been human for a short while, and the haunting of his sleep is not something he had expected to happen to him. When the nightmares grew too vivid and powerful for Castiel to ignore, he stopped sleeping. He stays up reading lore that will assist the brothers in their hunts or scrawling down eons worth of memories in a journal. He’s beginning to forget things. He wants to write them all down before they become distant blurs in his mind. He drinks cup upon cup of industrial strength coffee that he requested specifically from Sam when he went grocery shopping and forces himself to stay awake. Sometimes, he is left no choice but to self-medicate, swallowing down pills that are supposed to keep you awake and energized. He notices Dean’s eyes flit to the tub of pills that sit on his desk when he visits his room and the worry in the hunter’s eyes is hard to ignore. Dean mumbles something about some prophecy still coming true before leaving. Castiel doesn’t understand what Dean means but he isn’t sure he cares – the hunter would be a hypocrite to judge Cas after what he has been doing. Castiel sees excessive alcohol consumption as another form of self medication, anyway.

When Castiel has nightmares, he often dreams of Naomi and what he did under her control. He dreams of the suffering she put him through in order to make him obey, dreams of the pain that caused him to pass out on occasion – something he does not remember much of when he is conscious. He dreams of the training he endured to prepare him for the eventuality that he may have to kill Dean Winchester. He dreams of killing his friend, killing the man who had saved him in so many ways, over and over again, his ears ringing with hundreds of versions of begging. Begging him to stop. Begging him to see what he was doing to the hunter whom he had sacrificed so much for. He sees himself, plunging his blade into Dean’s body again and again, seeing the light of life leave his eyes. He dreams of the time he attacked Dean after they found the angel tablet and pictures himself doing it for real. Plunges the blade in after Dean tells him that he is family. That he needs him. Dean’s hand always goes limp, releasing the grip it had on Castiel’s own clenched fist.

Then he wakes up, his eyes stinging with tears and Dean’s name dying in his throat.

***

Dean is reading a book when it happens. His brother is sat opposite him, typing away on his laptop. Researching, he figured. He hears the hiss of air being sucked through Sammy’s teeth, the clear indication of pain. He looks up and sees the blood trailing down his brother’s palm and wrist. Dean acts on impulse, springing up to retrieve a first aid kit and wetting a cloth in the nearby sink before pulling up a chair to sit beside his younger sibling.

“Hey, let me see that…” Dean offers, reaching out for Sam’s hand. Sam pulls his hand away, defensive, and holds it in his other palm.

“I’m fine.” Sam snaps back and Dean sighs, picking up the damp cloth and attempting again.

“Yeah, I know…” He nods. “Just let me clean you up. Please, Sammy.”

Reluctantly, Sam reaches out his hand, palm up and Dean takes it, running the damp cloth along his palm, cleaning up the blood that had escaped his hand.

“I was just itching… I…” Sam stammers and shakes his head, letting out a long, weary sigh. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Mhmm.” Dean hums a reply and keeps cleaning Sam’s wounds. It’s then that he sees the damage properly for the first time. He sees how deep the scars run, the slight curvature of them indicating that they were caused by fingernails. There’s no mistaking it. They’re deep and painful, leaking a steady flow of blood. His stomach drops, a sickening feeling rising, threatening to spill over. His brother had been suffering so much and he had been too self absorbed to notice.

“Fuck, Sammy…”

“Don’t…” Sam looks away, avoiding Dean’s compassionate gaze. His younger brother’s cheeks flush pink, the embarrassment of his situation clear to Dean.

“You did this to yourself?” Dean asks cautiously; he does not want to push his brother further than he is willing to go.

“Yeah.” Sam’s reply is sharp and quick, his gaze diverted like he is waiting for the earth to swallow him up.

“Bad memories?” Dean dabs his injuries with antiseptic and listens to the hiss of pain escaping from Sam’s lips. Chick-flick moments aren’t really Dean’s thing but he sees that the younger hunter needs him now more than ever. “Nightmares…? I know pain reminds you what’s real and all that crap… I get it, okay?”

“Do you?” Sam retorts, his gaze flitting back to Dean’s, a blaze of anger flashing in his eyes. It takes Dean by surprise and he stills his movements, holding Sam's hand gently in his, bright green eyes meeting Sam's younger, but similar ones. Then he lets out a long sigh, apology washing over his face. "Sorry."

"Mm, s'okay..." Dean smiles halfheartedly and begins wrapping the bandage around the other hunter's hand, making sure to be careful with the tender marks. "You're gonna have to try not to mess with these when you sleep tonight... Any more pressure and you might need stitches, sorry, Sammy."

He ties the bandage and lets his brother's hand go, watching him cautiously. He wants to reach out and wrap Sam in his arms, protect him from anything bad that comes their way - just like he used to when they were kids. It was so much easier back then to protect him. Now, his younger brother is coming apart piece by piece, memories of the cage still lingering in his sub-conscious, even if Cas took as much of it away as he could. Those kind of things are never forgotten, not really, Dean figures. His own memories of hell flood back to him and send chills running to every nerve in his body. He swallows thickly.

"I just... I don't know what happened to me... I keep seeing Jessica when I sleep..." Sam speaks after a long silence and it almost makes Dean jump despite the fact that his words are nothing more than hesitant mumbling. "I keep reliving it and I..."

Dean watches him and then reaches over, places a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Sammy."

Sam doesn't look too convinced. He chokes back a bitter laugh that causes Dean's stomach to drop with anxiety - he doesn't know how to help his brother and that kills him.

"It wasn't." He reassures, firmer this time. "It wasn't your fault that Azazel was fucking with you, with us. The son of a bitch had been gunning for us since before we were even born, Sammy. There was nothing you could've done."

"But I..." Sam began to mutter a reply.

"No." Dean cut him off, refusing to listen to his brother's self-blame for any longer. "She loved you and... that's pretty awesome, you know? I just mean - uh..." he hesitates, unsure of how to proceed.

Comforting people isn't exactly his thing. When it comes to Sam, he usually tries to protect him - that's his way of looking after him. And when it came to Cas, he was usually kinda self-sufficient when it came to his emotions; Dean isn't sure angels really have as much crippling emotion as humans but he guesses that's somewhat irrelevant nowadays. Dean laughs internally, realizing that he's in no position to ever attempt to comfort neither Sam nor the former angel since his method of dealing with his own upset is to black it out with liquor.

"Thanks, dude but..." Sam sighs, "I think I'm just gonna get some rest or something."

"Mmm-hmm." Dean hums and watches as his brother closes the laptop, pulling his hand away from Dean. When the younger hunter stands up to leave, Dean speaks again. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Sam halts, turning to face Dean, exhaustion clear in his expression.

"Don't beat yourself up about Jess. She - uh - you know, got to be with you... and if my judgement is anything to go by, she was lucky." He pauses, almost cringing at himself. He adds, after a pause; "even if you are a total nerd."

That brings a laugh from Sam's throat and he shakes his head. "Jerk..." Dean hears him mutter to himself as he walks towards his bedroom.

"Bitch." Dean calls back, laughing too. "I'm always here if you need to talk, Sammy."

Sam stops before the he progresses to his room and turns back to Dean, smiling with genuine warmth. "Thank you, Dean."

Then, he is gone from sight and Dean releases a sigh of relief - a weight off his shoulders. He's glad that his brother trusts him enough to divulge a little information even if there is nothing Dean can do to quell Sam's suffering. He drums his fingers on the woodwork and goes back to reading his book, somewhat glad that the chick-flick moment has passed, despite how much his brother probably needed it.

***

Castiel doesn't even notice falling asleep. He is sat at his desk when he wakes up, another nightmare coming to an abrupt halt, another version of Dean's name tumbling from his lips. His chest rises and falls rapidly as the former angel desperately reminds himself that he is dreaming. _It's not real_ , he chastises himself, _you are being stupid. Dean is fine_. It does nothing to suppress the guilt weighing on his lungs.

He glances at the book in front of himself, trying to remind himself what he was doing before sleep took him - despite his fervent attempts to stay awake with endless coffee and medication. He gulps down bile that threatens to rise to the surface and resists the urge to gnaw at his trembling fingers until they bleed. He has to do something about this never ending anxiety, he decides. He considers asking Sam to pick him up something from the drug store when he goes grocery shopping tomorrow. Yes, that's a good idea, he nods to himself.

He picks up his pen and tries to write again, furrowing his brow in concentration as he wracks his brain for the memories. Remembering never used to be this difficult. He never used to strain to recall a scenario, no matter how many eons ago it occurred. He never used to feel overcome with exhaustion - he didn't even used sleep for that matter. But now, the fatigue is overwhelming and the rusty ticking clock on his wall tells him it is 3.25 in the morning. He should be resting.

His eyes are beginning to droop again when he hears it. A whimpering. A muttered cry for help or for something. Castiel frowns, listening intently. Silence. He begins to think he imagined it, settling on the conclusion that his lack of sleep is making him delirious. What if his nightmares are beginning to bleed into his consciousness? But then he hears it again, a muffled sob, someone crying out. It's clearer this time and Castiel realizes it's coming from the other side of his bedroom wall. Dean.

At first his muscles refuse to spring to action and he stays glued to his desk chair, trying to block out the sound of his friend sobbing and mumbling through the wall. He covers his ears, trying not to acknowledge the suffering - his emotions are too close to spilling over the edge as it is. Dean's pain would not assist with this issue. But then he realizes what he is doing, realizes how selfish he is being. _Dean is your friend_ , he tells himself, angry that he didn't move quicker, _what if he is hurt? You have to help him._

With that, he forces his muscles to move and ignores the burning in them as they scream out for rest, begging Castiel to let them sleep. He carefully approaches Dean's room and readies himself in case there is an intruder in the hunter's room. When he squints into the darkness through the crack in Dean's slightly open door, he can't see anyone else there. Castiel pushes the door open further, the light from the corridor gently pouring into Dean's room, allowing Castiel more sight into his friend's bedroom. He does not expect what he sees.

Dean is splayed out on the bed, covers kicked off him in desperation. He is fighting against invisible bonds, as if he is being tied down by a phantom memory. He thrashes on the bed, pushing against the mattress. There is a sheet of sweat on Dean's face, catching the gentle light from the corridor and his bare chest is rising and falling rapidly as the hunter takes shallow, panicked breaths. He is whimpering and crying in his sleep. Mumbling pleas for help. Castiel's stomach drops. He is having a nightmare; he recognizes the telltale signs from his own plagued sleep. He feels like running away, back to his own room; he wants to pretend he hasn't seen anything, oblivious to Dean's pain. He is interrupting something so private. But he knows from his own nightmares that it is not something one wants to suffer through, especially not alone. He enters the room, leaving the door slightly open to give him some light.

"Dean..." he whispers, unable to bring up the courage to raise his voice enough to wake the hunter. He sits on the edge of the bed and it dips under his weight. He watches the steady tears that run tracks down the hunter's temples. He speaks a little louder. "Dean."

The hunter moans helplessly in response, his subconscious aware of someone's presence but unable to wake.

"Dean, it's okay." He hesitantly reaches out a hand and lays it on the nearest part of Dean that he can reach - his knee. "You're having a nightmare. It's not real..."

His voice is enough to snap Dean awake, finally, and the hunter jolts, sitting up slightly in bed, a cry dying on his lips. "Wh.. f...." Then he notices Castiel's figure perched on the edge of the bed. "Holy fuck!!!"

It makes Castiel jump too and he removes his hand from Dean's leg as if he had been burnt. He shifts sheepishly, suddenly feeling as if interrupting the man's sleep was not a good idea at all. He watches as green eyes stare at him in the darkness, teary and panicked. A thick, uncomfortable silence settles on the room - broken only by the sound of Dean's ragged and uneven breathing. He knew that Dean had been drinking more than usual lately but the former angel had been unable to put the pieces together. He hadn't noticed or even considered the possibility that Dean's sleep was just as broken as his. He had figured that the hunter was braver and stronger than him; he had assumed that the green-eyed man did not succumb to weakness like Castiel did. He was wrong.

"I heard you from my bedroom." Castiel explains without being questioned. "I thought you were in pain... I knew you were suffering. I came to check up on you. I apologize for making you uncomfortable." He stands up to leave but when he hears Dean's cool, somewhat calmer voice calling out to him, he involuntarily stills his movements.

"You heard me? What the hell were you doing awake at...." He glances to the red digits of his alarm clock. "...Half 3 in the morning?"

Castiel hesitates before turning to look at Dean through the half-darkness. "You are not the only one who struggles sleeping, Dean."

"You've been having n...." Dean trails off and then sighs in realization, running his hands across his stubble. "Of course, yeah, you're new to all this sleeping business. I'm sorry, buddy, I didn't...I mean, I know you've been struggling in general... I just figured you missed being an angel."

"Don't apologize." Castiel shrugs a shoulder. "Had I wanted you to approach me about the subject, I would have made it more obvious that I was not handling things well. I didn't want you to think... that I wasn't up to hunting. I wanted to stay here. With you and Sam."

A pause. Castiel hears the rustle of bedsheets and makes out Dean's figure sitting up in the bed. The hunter doesn't speak and there's silence for a while before Castiel slowly re-approaches the bed, sitting beside the hunter, his feet still resting on the carpet.

"Are.... are you still wearing your goddamn suit?" Dean eventually inquires and the absurdity of the question causes a laugh to bubble from Castiel. It feels good. He glances down at himself and realizes he is still fully clothed in his daytime outfit.

"It would appear so, yes." He nods and turns to look at the hunter, blue eyes meeting green. Another moment of silence. "What did you dream about?"

Dean does not reply at first and for that moment, the former angel assumes he has offended him. "I - uh - I dreamt about hell. About Alistair and the whole.... me breaking that first seal thing."

Castiel blinks into the semi-darkness, unaware of how to respond to that. Dean has nightmares about hell? A pang of hurt hits the former angel's stomach as his compassion for the hunter grows. He spent what must have felt like an eternity in the depths of hell, being tortured to the brink of death. Yet, despite that, he is plagued, not by the memories of being tortured, but by the memory of _torturing_ , causing others to suffer and hurt. Castiel realizes, in that moment, with a startling clarity that he has never met a man more beautifully damaged yet still so selfless. The former angel also decides that his adoration and care for the hunter beside him far surpasses any love or warmth he has felt before. It is a worrying realization.

"Oh." Is all Castiel can choke out before he has to compose himself, inhaling deeply. Dean needs him to hold it together. "...what happened while you were in perdition was beyond your control, Dean. There aren't many humans that would have lasted as long as you did before cracking. I don't blame you for what you did whilst you remained there and you shouldn't either. You are a good man, Dean Winchester."

Dean just stares at him, unblinking and Castiel can't help but shift under the unwavering gaze of the hunter that is so strong and so full of something that Castiel thinks he may melt. He glances down at his hands and picks at his fingernails, avoiding the green eyes that burn into his skin.

"Th...Thanks, man." Dean eventually speaks, whispering so softly that the former angel wonders if he actually heard right. "I just... what I did... those were real souls, you know? Real suffering. And, God, did I make them suffer."

Castiel swallows down the pain that comes to the surface. "You have saved many other souls in your time on Earth. You should remind yourself of that. There are many of my Father's creations that are still alive and well thanks to you and your brother's work. I would figure that more than makes up for the limits you were pushed to in hell, Dean."

"Mhmm..." Is all Dean replies.

There's another moment of silence, but it is not as awkward or obvious as the previous ones. Instead, there is a warmth behind it. It is somewhat comforting but it also allows their minds to drift, to wander. The silence is broken by the shaky intake of breath coming from the hunter beside him and even Castiel is not oblivious enough to mistake the noise for anything other than crying. Without thinking, he reaches out and rests his hand on the hunter's knee, moving his finger in comforting patterns. What he does not expect is the feeling of Dean gripping his hand and the former angel figures that he will cast his hand aside. Instead, he feels a strong grip on his hand, fingers sliding between his. His breath catches in his throat and he tells himself it is not normal to be so affected by this gesture. He strokes Dean's hand with his thumb instinctively and hears the whimper of relief that comes from the man beside him.

"Wh..." Dean clears his throat, his voice still laced with pain. It is clear to Castiel that Dean switches the attention of the conversation in order to preserve his feelings. "What do you dream of?"

"I try to avoid sleeping all together," Castiel confesses. "So, most nights, I don't dream at all."

"Is that why you fill yourself with that medication you've got on your desk?" Dean inquires and the bitterness behind his tone is not lost on the former angel.

"Yes. I asked Sam to buy me something to help and he complied. He has been very helpful recently. I am considering asking him to buy me something to limit my discomfort when I am awake, too."

"You're going to fill yourself with more drugs?!" Dean snaps and pulls his hand away from Castiel's. The loss of touch hits Castiel like a ton of bricks. "That's great, Cas. Awesome way of handling it."

"I find it a little hypocritical that this is coming from a man who drinks himself to sleep most nights." Castiel replies, coldly and Dean's silence is all Castiel needs to know that his words hurt the hunter. "I assure you, I'm not going to self medicate more than I can handle, Dean."

"How the _fuck_ do you know how much you can handle, hm?" The hunter barks and the former angel wonders why this is so difficult for Dean to process. "You're not... I mean, you can't..."

"What?" Castiel inquires. "Why does this bother you so much, Dean?"

"Because...." Dean sighs, his eyes meeting Castiel's, who finds himself startled at the honesty in them. "I don't want you to change, man. When the angels wanted me to say yes to Michael, they showed me the future. You were human and you were broken and you were burying yourself in... 'women and decadence', you called it. I don't want that to happen to you now."

Castiel's heart stops for a second as he processes this. "It won't change m- what can I do to make this easier?"

"Stop." Dean replies sharply and Castiel just watches him, studying his expression. He looks serious, his eyes boring into the blue-eyed man. "Just stop. We'll find a way to make your sleep better, or whatever. But please... promise me you'll stop, man."

"Okay." He agrees without hesitation. He doesn't want Dean to worry about him. "I promise."

"Th- wait, really?" Dean frowns and Castiel just nods back. Dean doesn't seem so convinced. "Okay...uh... so... you gonna tell me what your nightmares are about when you do sleep?"

Castiel reaches for Dean's hand again and entwines their fingers cautiously, tightening his grip when the hunter does not resist. "You."

"Me?" Dean sounds taken aback.

"Yes, you." Castiel repeats. "Naomi.... when I was under her control, she found ways to make me do whatever she wanted. One of my tasks, besides retrieving the angel tablet, was to kill you. She ran me through simulations and had me kill you over and over again. It isn't a fond memory."

"Wh..." Dean stumbles on his reply. "I had no idea. I guess that explains why you almost ganked me when we got the tablet."

"Yes." He sighs a reply. "Though, I have begun to realize that the tablet did not break the connection, but rather.... you did. Simulation you and real you have their differences. I couldn't bring myself to kill you, despite Naomi's attempts to control my behaviour. I sometimes dream of what would have occurred had the connection not been broken. I'm.... not as equipped as you and your brother when it comes to handle being human. I figured if I just refused to sleep... well, I wouldn't dream that way, right?"

"Mhm, yeah, I guess it makes sense." Dean shrugs, lightly squeezing Castiel's hand. "It's pretty stupid though, Cas. You need to sleep. You must be exhausted."

"I am." Castiel admits, stroking Dean's hand absentmindedly. "Though I don't respond well to being unable to control myself. I feel somewhat helpless having to submit to hunger and fatigue. It's strange... You probably don't think about that at all."

"No... but you need to rest. It'll get better, I promise." Dean reassures and Castiel nods, meeting the younger man's gaze.

"I don't think I could stand anymore nightmares, Dean. I just want it to _stop."_

"I know. Me too, Cas." Dean admits and then glances down at their intertwined fingers, suddenly aware of the intimacy. Castiel watches as Dean clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. He sighs and tries to remove his hand from the hunter's, surprised when the grip on his hand tightens, not letting him go.

"Don't."

"...Dean..." Castiel sighs out a reply, unable to stop himself from releasing an exhausted whimper when the green-eyed man runs his fingers delicately across the skin of Castiel's palm.

"Thanks for... for coming to check up on me. I needed the company." Dean shrugs, a nervous falter to his voice.

"I'm willing to stay as long as you need me." The former angel replies, unable to take his eyes off Dean's. "I appreciate your company also."

"As lon..." Dean begins to repeat Castiel's words, stuttering. "So - uh - you could, you know.... stay. If you wanted to."

Castiel nods and stands up, moving to the chair in the corner of Dean's room before the hunter can stop him. "You can rest. I'll watch over you."

Dean laughs in reply and Castiel's brow furrows, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "I mean... you can stay in _here_ if you want." He gestures to the bed he is sat in and Castiel realizes the meaning behind the hunter's words. His breath catches in his throat.

Since becoming human, Castiel has found it harder and harder to ignore the feeling he gets whenever he is around Dean, found himself thinking about his friend a lot when left alone with his thoughts. He has begun to appreciate the hunter more, begun to notice the attractiveness of his features and can't stop himself from feeling shivers run through him whenever his friend spoke in that low voice, his eyes fixing on the former angel. It has begun to be distracting and Castiel doesn't know what exactly it is that he feels but he knows that it always compels him to be closer to the hunter. It makes him want to reach out and touch him, nowhere in particular, just a desire to feel the warmth of his friend's skin under his hands. The prospect of staying in Dean's bed tonight caused an electric shiver to run through him that he couldn't quite describe.

"Uh..." He stammers, choking on his voice. "If it would....assist with your nightmares. I would be happy to stay."

"Right. _My_ nightmares." Dean nods and there is something teasing in his voice. "You can try and get some rest here too. I mean, I'll be here if you have a nightmare, yeah?"

"I would appreciate that." Castiel smiles a little and approaches the bed, sitting back down on the edge, watching cautiously as Dean climbs under the covers.

He is suddenly aware that his friend is wearing nothing but his underwear. He feels his cheeks warm up and realizes he will have to undress if he is going to rest here. His fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt and he is all too aware of Dean's eyes tracking his every movement. After much effort, Castiel frees himself of his clothing until he is also only in his boxers and climbs in the bed beside Dean, careful not to let his body touch Dean's. He is sure that would not be welcomed. Dean proves him wrong by shifting closer to him, their hips and legs resting together and Castiel has to bite his lip to stop himself from letting out a moan in response to the feeling of Dean's warm skin against his. He has never been in such close proximity to anyone before. When Dean moves to grab Castiel's arm and pulls it around him, Castiel nearly loses his mind.He holds onto Dean for a moment, trying to work out if this is really real, and then relaxes into the embrace, just as Dean tucks his face into the crook of the former angel's neck.

Castiel croaks out Dean's name and tries to ignore the warmth that appears between his legs at the feeling of Dean's hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck. Dean cranes his neck to look at Castiel's face, he is caught off guard by the closeness of the hunter's face to his own. His eyes flicker down to Dean's lips and he can't help but wonder what they would feel like against his own. What he would taste like. He swallows thickly and closes his eyes. He whimpers as he feels his friend's lips brush against his, instinctively moving to respond, pushing their lips together. The kiss is slow and languid, relaxed and calm. Their lips move together and when Dean's tongue parts Castiel's lips, his movements are slow and deliberate. Castiel can't help but moan, nevertheless, meeting Dean's tongue with his own and tasting the mouth he had been imagining only moments ago. He feels his body go weak, except for the fire in his veins and the warmth between his legs.

He whimpers desperately and moves his body to face Dean's, begging for more contact. His overwhelming fatigue mixed with the growing arousal causes him to feel dizzy, his head spinning and his fingers shaking. He is thankful that they are lying down or else he is sure he would collapse to the floor. Dean pulls back, much to Castiel's disappointment and rests their foreheads together.

"Easy tiger..." He whispers softly caressing Castiel's cheek. "You're exhausted. Not tonight; you'll pass out. Get some rest, Cas."

Half of Castiel feels despondent but the other half tells him that Dean is right and he will appreciate the other man's self control in the morning. He exhales and relaxes, wrapping his arms around Dean again, savoring the therapeutic feeling of Dean's breath against him this time. He traces his fingers across Dean's skin and closes his eyes. Before the sleep that he has been avoiding for days takes him, he kisses Dean's hair and murmurs sleepily; "Goodnight... Dean..."

"G'night, Cas."

And then a tranquil feeling washes over Castiel and his vision turns to black.

***

That night, Sam Winchester falls asleep reminding himself of the happy memories of Jess. Of how much he loved her and she loved him. He reminds himself of Dean's words about her being lucky and tells himself that he will speak to Dean again if he struggles to sleep. He falls asleep quickly, without hesitation, and sleeps peacefully for the first night in a long time. He sees Jess laugh as he sleeps, her blonde curls falling beautifully around her face. He smiles as he sleeps, blissfully in love and for the first time in such a long time, he does not want to wake up.

***

Dean Winchester wakes up in the morning, the dream he was having fading away to a distant memory. He blinks, taking in the room and realizes he slept well. No nightmares. He is not hungover. He frowns to himself. That's when he feels someone shift beside him and turns to see the former angel, his best friend, eyes closed in slumber. He frowns again until the memories of the night before come back to him. He feels surprised at first but then settles into Castiel's touch, shifts against his body and holds on tight. He smiles to himself, closing his eyes. He might as well get as much sleep as he can before his friend - or whatever he is now - wakes up. He wants to make the most of the nightmare-free sleep they both seem to obtain when resting together. As sleep begins to take him again, he sighs happily, deciding that Castiel will have to stay in his bed more often from now on.


End file.
